The Prime Seat
by Psychedelica
Summary: Generic high school AU. Patrick's the new kid. Teresa's the Queen Bee. Sparks flare. Same scene from five POVs.
1. Teresa

**Random prompt from my dearest mother, who (in order to get me to quit bugging her) told me to write a Mentalist fic where they're all in high school. Five chapters have been handwritten by yours truly, but I've got to type them up so updates should come every 2-3 days (fingers crossed!).**

**Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I, Psychedelica, solemnly swear on the life of all of those around me that neither the Mentalist nor any of the characters are in my possession. I do, however, own any rights to the storyline, etc.. Coz I'm cool like that :P**

_**The Prime Seat**_

**Chapter One – Teresa**

The prime seat of the English classroom – second row from the back, right by the window with the view of the fountain – was reserved for Teresa Lisbon. Everybody knew that. _Everybody._

Except, apparently, the new boy.

Teresa was met with hushed whispers and furtive glances when she entered the classroom with Kimball. It was first period on a Monday and she was _not _in the mood for any funny business.

"That's Teresa's seat," Kimball stated calmly once he had strolled over to the new boy.

Smirking in what she hoped was a menacing way, Teresa stalked over to join them.

"Get out," she ordered. "You're new here, so I'm not going to hit you, but in future, I'm not going to hold back."

The new boy met her steely gaze and Teresa swept her eyes over him.

Pretty poorly dressed, she noticed. Nothing designer. Just a yellow checked shirt over a gray-blue t-shirt, and a nondescript, slightly worn pair of jeans. Shabby white trainers on his feet; nothing impressive. His honey blonde curls had a surf-like quality to them, and Teresa couldn't help but admire his greenish blue eyes.

And yet he wasn't moving.

"Out," she demanded. "Last chance to move before I call in the cavalry."

The blonde kid cocked an eyebrow, and that did it for her.

"Wayne!" she yelled, and instantly six-foot football jock Wayne Rigsby appeared at her side, an obedient expression upon his face. "He's in my seat."

Wayne took in the new boy's appearance and shorter-than-average height, and smiled. "Sure thing, boss."

Was it just her or did the new kid's confident eyes flicker with panic? She had no time to investigate further, though, because at that moment her cell rang.

As Wayne walked behind the kid and picked him up by the armpits like a small child, Teresa saw that the call was from her little brother Tommy so accepted.

"What's the matter, Tommy? Class starts in two minutes."

"It does?" He sounded alarmed, and swore viciously.

"Thomas!" she snapped. "We do _not _use that kind of language, are we clear?"

"Sure, Tess," he responded, and she could picture him rolling his eyes. "Just calling to let you know I'm round Kieran's house tonight, so don't bother making me dinner."

"K, Tom," she smiled. "Have a nice time, and hurry up, for goodness' sake! What lesson have you got?"

"Geography," Tommy replied bitterly. "Hate that Mr LaRoche. He's got a personal vendetta against me."

Just then the bell rang, and Tommy swore again. "Got to go, Tess. See you tonight!"

He hung up before Teresa had a chance to respond, but she didn't mind. _Typical Tom. Always running late. I hope Mr LaRoche doesn't give him hell._

She went to sit down, but before she could, the new boy was in the prime seat again, fast as lightning. She opened her mouth to call for Wayne again, but unfortunately her English teacher Mr Minelli strutted into the classroom at that moment.

"Take a seat, Miss Lisbon. Don't keep us waiting, dear."

Teresa stared open-mouthed at the new kid, then at Mr Minelli, and then at Kimball, who looked unemotional as ever, and sat reluctantly in the only spare seat – right at the front next to straight-A student Grace Van Pelt.

Grace smiled shyly at her, but Teresa ignored her, twisting in her seat to glare at the new boy while Mr Minelli rambled on. With a humungous grin, he waved at her, and she shook her head in contempt.

_Oh-no-he-did-not,_ she thought.

Blonde curls or no blonde curls, he had just made himself a dangerous enemy.


	2. Grace

**Disclaimer (applies to all future chapters): [insert humorous anecdote about me trying to persuade Bruno Heller to give me the Mentalist and him not giving it to me here]**

**Thanks SOOOO much to all those lovely people who have R&R'ed or added this to their Favourites/Story Alert lists. I love you all!**

**ENJOY!**

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><p><strong>Chapter Two – Grace<strong>

Grace Van Pelt always arrived early for English, because it was her favorite subject and was taught by her favorite teacher. Unlike the other kids, though, it wasn't her _only _favorite lesson or her _only _favorite teacher. They were _all _her favorites.

Grace liked to learn.

Her father didn't see what the big deal was. Like most of the family, he had flunked school after spending so much time tending to the farm. Grandpappy Van Pelt's arthritis had grown more and more severe throughout Grace's father's childhood, until it reached the stage where it was down to his five sons to run the farm.

But Grace, just like her mom, had no time for running farms or playing football like her daddy and his brothers had at her age. All she ever had time for was studying, day in, day out, in the hope that she could break the Van Pelt family mold and do something useful with her life.

"Whatcha reading there?" asked a voice.

Grace glanced up from her book and tucked a strand of red hair behind her ear. Wayne Rigsby, her daddy's golden boy.

Her father coached the Calvin Bradley Isaacs High School football team. The CBI football team was well known across multiple states for their 'unbeatable' superstar, Wayne Rigsby.

Grace blushed, a reaction that only seemed to happened when Wayne talked to her. She couldn't help it, not when he shot her those puppy-dog eyes and goofy grin.

"Nineteen Eighty-Four," she whispered, staring at Wayne's varsity jacket instead of his face. She swallowed. "George Orwell."

"Ah." He feigned interest. Grace knew Wayne hated books, the one thing she lived for. "Is it any good? What's it about?"

"It's about a controlled, futuristic, dystopian society where one man battles against the corruption that surrounds him," she babbled. "It teaches us that we must not let our world become a Communism-fuelled creation where everyone is being watched at all times. It's essentially a battle between what's right and wrong, except the visions on right and wrong have been shifted and warped until right equals wrong and wrong equals right."

Grace grinned and inhaled, having not breathed through the entire speech. She then blushed heavily, and internally kicked herself when she saw Wayne's lost expression.

"I . . . see . . ." he responded, when Teresa Lisbon yelled his name.

"Gotta go," he smiled, and she almost fainted at the sight of that sweet, genuine smile.

Grace mentally steeled herself against those sorts of feelings and went back to Orwell, half-watching Wayne getting bossed around by the Lisbon girl. Grace's daddy knew her daddy, and apparently all those Lisbons were bad news – alcoholics, thieves, bullies. Grace shook her head, wiping away the evil thoughts. She always took special care not to judge anyone by the rumors she heard.

All of a sudden, Grace saw Wayne lift up one of the new boys as if he were a doll, and place him in the front row, just a few seats down from her. She carefully marked her page with a bookmark and watched wide-eyed as Wayne approached her.

"He was in Teresa's seat," he stated, as if that explained everything.

She shook her head. "And? You resort to physical bullying?"

Wayne looked upset. He dropped his voice. "You know what Teresa's like. She's temperamental, just like that dad of hers. Best thing to do with someone like that is keep them happy, right?"

Grace frowned, but just nodded. "Who _is _the new kid anyway?"

He shrugged. "Don't know, don't care. Rumor has it he's a carnie, travelling with that carnival that's in town for a couple of weeks. Definitely looks like one," he snorted.

"Wayne, don't be mean! We mustn't be judgmental of people." She eyed up the new boy. "Besides, what's wrong with him?"

Her friend laughed –almost nervously. "What's wrong with him?" he echoed scornfully, causing Grace to blush and duck her head again. "You mean, aside from the fact he's carnie scum?"

"Wayne!" Grace felt shocked that these words were coming from thoughtful, protective, sweet Wayne's mouth.

"What? It's true! Trust me, he's up to no good."

She rolled her eyes and was about to argue when Mr Minelli made his appearance.

"See you later," murmured Wayne, practically flying back to his seat before Grace had a chance to reply.

"Take a seat, Miss Lisbon," ordered Mr Minelli sternly, and Grace resisted the urge to rudely turn around. "Don't keep us waiting, dear."

Grace aligned her pencil case with her books so she could work efficiently as soon as possible this lesson, and was mildly surprised when bad-girl Teresa Lisbon dropped down in the seat beside her.

Grace scolded herself for her lack of manners and tried to smile invitingly at her, but Teresa must not have seen, because she spun the other way to stare at something near the back of the classroom.

Grace uncapped her favorite ink pen – it wrote in a beautiful deep violet – and prepared herself to begin taking notes.


	3. Wayne

**Finally - here it is! Chapter 3! Life's been a bit hectic recently, since our school timetable's been switched around and we've gone into all these different groups and blah blah blah. But that's out of the way now, and I should hopefully get the next chapter up a.s.a.p.**

**Disclaimer - Yes, I own the Mentalist. That's why I'm sadly tapping away at my laptop and posting bizarre little AU stories on a fanfiction site. That's why I didn't know who Red John was until the last episode. That's why I have to wait until autumn for the next season of the Mentalist.**

**^ Unfortunately, I do have to point out that the above message was sarcastic, just in case someone thought I was serious and then sued me.**

**Thanks to all my reviewers and the like - I 3 you!**

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><p><strong>Chapter Three – Wayne<strong>

Wayne strolled into the English classroom. He was actually pretty early, especially considering he'd stopped off at his neighbor's house to test her new batch of cookies.

After he picked out that the cinnamon was a tad too strong and that the proportion of sugar to flour needed to be shifted, she had smiled thankfully and declared that he should be a food critic when he got older.

"Nah," he had brushed off. "Got my eyes set on being a cop. Coach Van Pelt says I should apply for that football college in Michigan, but I'm not sure I can stay away from your cooking, Mrs Greene."

As he wandered into class thinking about those cookies and wondering whether the cinnamon _had _been too strong after all, two things caught his attention. Firstly, some kid he'd never seen before in his life was sat in Teresa Lisbon's window seat, and secondly, Gracie had her hair in that loopy knot thing her sister did for her.

Wayne weighed up the scenarios, and after a moment of contemplation, swaggered over to little Gracie.

She didn't notice as he approached – she was too absorbed in her book – so Wayne craned his neck to see the cover.

"Whatcha reading there?" he asked casually, shoving his hands deep into the pockets of his varsity jacket.

Gracie looked up at him and her cheeks turned beetroot red. They always seemed to be red, thought Wayne. He rarely got to see her natural cheek color.

She didn't look him in the eyes as she replied – she never looked anyone in the eyes. "Nineteen Eighty-Four. George Orwell."

Wayne's mind went blank. George who? Nineteen Eighty-_what? _"Ah," was all he could say, so he floundered around for something to elaborate. "Is it any good? What's it about?"

He knew those were Gracie's favorite questions, along with '_What's your opinion?' _and _'How does this/that work?'_ He zoned out as Gracie rambled on, watching the way her eyes twinkled, and the way the fluorescent strip lighting shone on her fiery red hair.

Once she came to an end – something about right being wrong and wrong being right – she blushed even heavier than before. Wayne was more infatuated with her than ever – how could anyone talk so passionately about a book? Bewildered, he knew he had to say something so she wasn't upset, so began with, "I . . . see . . ." just as Teresa called out his name.

He shot a smile at little Gracie. "Gotta go."

Jogging over to Teresa with what he hoped to be a neutral expression, he noticed that the strange boy was still in her seat, a point which Teresa immediately vocalized.

"He's in my seat," she stated.

Wayne glanced the kid up and down, taking in his tatty clothes and confident expression. He couldn't help but smile back – no use making an unnecessary enemy. Then again, it was probably an even worse idea to make Teresa Lisbon your enemy. "Sure thing, boss."

He strolled reluctantly behind the new kid, and hissed in his ear, "Sorry; Teresa has her bad days," just as Teresa was answering her ringing cell.

Wayne tucked his large hands under the boy's armpits and lifted him from the seat. However short the kid was, he also had to be pretty skinny, because he only seemed to weigh a few pounds to Wayne. He wondered absently whether the kid was a fast runner – skinny kids often were – and then wondered if he could kick a football.

The boy interrupted his thoughts as Wayne placed him on a chair in the front row. "Does this sort of dominating, aggressive behavior make you feel less ashamed of your abusive father?"

Wayne baulked and he had to physically resist the urge the punch the smarmy little kid on the nose.

Luckily, Gracie rescued him. He noticed how she was sitting all wide-eyed and shocked, so he turned his back on the new boy and sauntered over to her.

He decided he owed her an explanation. "He was in Teresa's seat."

"And? You resort to physical bullying?" He hated the accusing tone to her voice.

"You know what Teresa's like," he whispered, searching her disappointed face for some sign of forgiveness. "She's temperamental, just like that dad of hers. Best thing to do with someone like that is keep them happy, right?"

Gracie seemed to accept this, and Wayne heaved a sigh of relief as she changed the subject, asking who the new blond kid was.

"Don't know, don't care." He spied a chance to gossip – girls liked gossip, right? "Rumor has it he's a carnie, travelling with that carnival that's in town for a couple of weeks." He glared over at the guy in question and had to once more fight the urge to hit him. "Definitely looks like one."

Gracie looked shocked. "Wayne, don't be mean! We mustn't be judgmental. Besides, what's wrong with him?"

He definitely didn't like the look sweet little Gracie was giving the new boy. Wayne crossed his arms defensively and snorted a nervous laugh. "What's _wrong _with him? You mean aside from the fact he's carnie scum?"

Gracie seemed to take offence at that. "Wayne!" she objected.

"What? It's true!" He knew the words weren't helping to win her over, but right now all he really wanted to do was wipe that smug smile off the kid's face. "Trust me, he's up to no good." Wayne glanced up, noticing Mr Minelli entering the English classroom. "See you later," he smiled, swiftly returning to his seat. Last thing he wanted to do was annoy Mr Minelli – the guy may have his good days, but on the other hand, every Jekyll has its Hyde.

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><p><strong>Chap 4 should be up soonish. Oh, and I would LOVE it if you would review! Thanks to all those lovely people who have reviewed already! :)<strong>


	4. Kimball

**_A/N - My deepest, deepest, DEEPEST apologies for being SOOO late! My internet went kaput, and I'm not just saying that to dig myself out of a hole. I promised to have this up a couple of weeks ago, but . . . Again, I am SO sorry :(_**

**_But, here it is! Better late than never, as they say! Chapter 4 / 5. Hope you enjoy, and remember:_**

**_REVIEWERS WILL BE SENT AN IMAGINARY COOKIE BY IMAGINARY MAIL! :D_  
><strong>

**Chapter Four – Kimball**

Ever since his first day of kindergarten, Kimball Cho had walked to school with his neighbor Tess. He had watched her bloom and flower into a young lady with an . . . interesting character, and had become like an uncle to her little brothers. He had been her solid rock when her mother died, and her shoulder to cry on when times got tough. And he knew – he _knew_ – that beneath all her stubbornness and bossiness and harsh words, she was still that little pigtailed five-year-old who carried a powder blue 'Lady and the Tramp' lunchbox.

So when he saw that curly-haired kid in Tess's seat, he put it together with the fact that Tess was in a foul mood, and decided he'd hate to be in that kid's shoes right now.

To save the poor clueless kid, he marched up to him and declared, "That's Teresa's seat."

Tess appeared by his side, and Kimball knew the apocalypse had come. "Get out," she snarled. Kimball wondered guiltily how late she'd had to stay up last night waiting for her father to come home. She was always grouchy the day after Mr Lisbon got drunk. "You're new here, so I'm not going to punch you, but in future, I'm not going to hold back."

Kimball had to admire the kid – he didn't even drop her gaze. But he also knew the kid had to be suicidal. When Tess Lisbon told you to do something, you sure as hell did it. Most of the time, though, he had to admit she'd made a wise choice. She always seemed to know what to do to benefit the class the best.

"Out," Tess reiterated, and Kimball saw her eyes glint furiously. Nobody said 'no' to Tess, and though this kid was remaining perfectly still and silent, he was giving off a strong air of defiance. "Last chance to move before I call in the cavalry." No response. "Wayne!"

Kimball stepped back, knowing Tess and the football jock could handle this. He dumped his books on his desk – the seat directly behind Tess – and began reading through the essay they'd been set for homework.

He heard Tess say, "What's the matter, Tommy?" and his eyes snapped up. Tommy was one of her little brothers – a bit of a handful, but he and Kimball got on pretty well. What was he doing calling Tess when class started in a few minutes?

"Thomas!" Tess practically yelled down her cell. "We do _not _use that kind of language, are we clear?"

Kimball smirked slightly, bowing his head to hide it. Tess would beat the crap out of him if she thought he was laughing at her.

"K, Tom," Tess sighed eventually. "Have a nice time, and hurry up, for goodness' sake! What lesson have you got?"

Kimball watched her head bobbing up and down in agreement, even though Tommy might not even be in the same building. The bell trilled and Tess looked exasperated as she hung up. Kimball could almost see the hundreds of thoughts floating around that head of hers.

While he had been watching Tess, though, Kimball hadn't noticed the blond boy sneak slyly back into Tess's window seat, even though he was practically under his nose. He saw Tess's forehead crease, but at that moment Mr Minelli surged into class.

"Take a seat, Miss Lisbon," he ordered, and Kimball felt sorry for his friend. "Don't keep us waiting, dear." Kimball felt like rolling his eyes at Mr Minelli's patronizing tone.

Tess met his eyes, unbelieving and asking for help, but there was nothing Kimball could do without getting into trouble. He always respected his teachers (or rather, he obeyed them without protesting), and though it meant people called him 'teacher's pet', he knew that respecting those in charge was always the best action to take.

Kimball watched without comment as Tess slunk off to sit near the front beside the Van Pelt girl, and made a mental reminder to hold this incident against the blond boy at some point in the future.


	5. Patrick

**Chapter Five – Patrick**

Patrick Jane hadn't liked the months he'd spent in junior high, and he expected he'd detest high school equally as much, if not more so. Luckily, his dad had only enrolled him for a couple of weeks until the carnival moved on.

Patrick decided the least he could do was stir things up a bit.

He arrived early, and instantly discovered the Emperor seat – near-ish the back beside the window, with a view of the looming water fountain and distant football field.

"You're mine," he mouthed, narrowing his eyes.

Gradually, people started to arrive, each one eyeing him up. Patrick waiting for whatever Jock or Queen Bee this seat belonged to, and pretty soon she arrived.

He put on his most blasé face as a tough-looking Asian kid approached him. "That's Teresa's seat." Patrick liked his lack of emotion, the way he stated things without all the fluffiness of most speakers.

Ah, here she came, Patrick noticed. Straight, raven-black hair, bright green eyes, no funny business. Everything about her screamed '_BOSS!'_

"Get out." Did everyone in this town say things so bluntly? "You're new here, so I'm not going to punch you, but in future, I'm not going to hold back."

Patrick held back all the witty retorts his mind came up with, letting silence fall across the classroom. Instead, whilst Missy Bossy Boots critically inspected his shabby clothing, he wondered why she was acting like this.

He noted the golden crucifix around her neck, the way her hand was clenching in badly disguised anger and distrust. He wanted so badly to ask her,_ "Who hurt you?",_ her behavior being similar to that he'd seen in kids in foster care. No sisters, but brothers. Plural. Four at most, most likely three. No female influence in the house whatsoever, so mother either deceased or elsewhere . . . Patrick noticed her hard expression and twigged that the mother must be dead. That and a useless, probably alcoholic father meant Missy Bossy Boots no doubt had to raise her brothers single-handedly.

"Out," she repeated through gritted teeth. "Last chance to move before I call in the cavalry."

Patrick had to admit, Missy Bossy Boots was kind of cute when she was angry, so he arched his eyebrows, a sign that declared her as an equal.

"Wayne!" she shouted suddenly. "He's in my seat."

"Sure thing, Boss," smiled the huge boulder of a guy that had appeared. Football-jacket-wearing Wayne was obviously at Teresa's beck and call. Patrick noticed the Asian one had slunk off.

Teresa's (that _was _her name, right? He was pretty certain that was what the deadpan Asian guy had said) cell rang suddenly – some syrupy pop tune he couldn't believe she actually _liked._ She turned away and he was left just with Wayne.

He feigned a confident grin, and the jock grinned back, putting Patrick instantly at east. No matter how scary he looked, Patrick couldn't help but compare him to a big, varsity-jacket-wearing teddy bear.

"Sorry; Teresa has her bad days," Wayne apologized quietly, and Patrick couldn't help but agree. Hopefully tomorrow would be one of Missy Bossy Boots' good days.

All of a sudden, he felt Wayne's freakishly huge hands under his armpits, and he was being lifted in the most undignified manner possible. All Patrick's friendly thoughts towards the jock vanished. His pride had been injured, and he wasn't going to forget that anytime soon.

"Does this sort of dominating, aggressive behavior make you feel less ashamed of your abusive father?"

Hard as he tried, Patrick couldn't help but smirk at Wayne's blank yet furious face as he digested this question. Without responding, Wayne turned on his heel and stormed off to a girl Patrick suspected he liked. And by the looks of things, she liked him back.

Leaning back in his new seat, Patrick ran his eye over the English class, skipping over the ones he'd dubbed as 'unimportant'. Teresa was still on the phone with someone he suspected to be a relative – a brother, maybe? The impressively emotionless Asian kid seemed to be watching her. Nobody was looking at that irresistible seat, and Patrick grinned widely as he leapt up from his own seat and sprinted towards it.

He'd only been sat down for a few seconds before Missy Bossy Boots put her cell away and turned around to face him with a disbelieving expression.

At that moment, just as she was about to say something – probably an argument – a man walked into the room and a hush fell over the English class. Patrick knew he was a teacher – obviously – but rarely had he seen such impressive control over his pupils.

"Take a seat, Miss Lisbon," the teacher instructed coldly, and Patrick noted that he'd never met a 'Lisbon' before. "Don't keep us waiting, dear."

Patrick grinned even wider as Teresa "_Missy Bossy Boots_" Lisbon trudged to sit next to Wayne's little sweetheart. Round One: Patrick 1, Teresa 0.

Patrick loved high school already.


End file.
